


everything we hear, everything we see

by Katbelle



Series: to make a happy life [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Best Friends, Confessions, Drugs, Foggy daydreams about murder, Foggy would like to un-hear some things, Friendship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Matt has a steaming pile of issues, Matt is word-vomiting and has no brain-to-mouth filter left, Mind the Tags, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Stick is a dick, Truth Serum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 20:54:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4152591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katbelle/pseuds/Katbelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt gets hit with an honest-to-God real truth serum. The consequences are much less fun than pop culture has led Foggy to believe.</p><p>
  <em>"I don't hate you, Matt."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Matt blinks. "Oh." He blinks again, and his eyes go almost comically wide in surprise. "You're not lying anymore. Foggy, you're not lying, did you know that?"</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	everything we hear, everything we see

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/1742.html?thread=3705550#cmt3705550) over at the Daredevil kink meme.

**everything we hear, everything we see**

_Everything we hear is an opinion, not a fact. Everything we see is a perspective, not the truth._  
Marcus Aurelius

***

It's around 2am when his phone rings. And not the smartphone either. The burner phone.

He has a burner phone now. That is how fucked up his life has become. A burner phone to contact his best friend — or rather a burner phone to have his best friend contact _him_ , and only in the absolute worst case scenarios, apparently — is something that he needs and has. Foggy is pretty sure that Claire doesn't have one of those, it's only Matt that needs one when he's out doing--when he's out daredevilling. But Claire is not someone that Matt Murdock would have any reason to know — except that she's cool and hot and would totally be Matt's type if only she didn't consider him too high-maintenance to date — so it's not like anyone would connect them. Foggy... Well, Foggy is a different matter, Foggy Nelson is Matt Murdock's much better and much more well-adjusted half and it would be highly suspicious if Daredevil were found with Foggy Nelson's number. It's not like Daredevil needs a lawyer, so it's a protective measure, right, Matt?

At least that's what Foggy argues. Matt cannot honestly find fault in that reasoning and Foggy ends up with a burner phone.

It's more about making sure that Matt knows he can safely call him when he needs help than about Foggy's safety, but the latter is not a lie either so Matt cannot pinpoint it. Foggy is starting to get a hang of his weird polygraph powers and devising ways of working around them. Let no one say that Foggy Nelson is not able to adapt to the wildest conditions.

And so it's around 2am when the burner phone rings for the first time ever and Foggy experiences what he is sure is a prelude to a heart attack.

He sits up on the bed and searches for the phone in his bedside table drawer. He probably should have bothered to turn on the light before that, but that would take at least twenty seconds and those were twenty seconds that perhaps Matt couldn't wait and didn't have.

"Hello?" he asks when he finally finds the damn phone. There's only one person who has this number, but who knows who's holding the phone. Better to play dumb as long as possible. Probably.

"Foggy?" Matt breathes uncertainly. He's not choking or wheezing, so Foggy thinks it's safe to assume that he hasn't been stabbed.

"Yeah, buddy." Foggy takes a breath and tries to calm his voice. Sound optimistic, Nelson, Matt's not calling because he missed you, you've gotta stay positive for the both of you. "Are you okay?"

"No," Matt answers immediately and Foggy's blood runs cold. Something extremely terrible must have happened, Matt would never voluntarily admit to not being fine. Jesus, what if he is _dying_ \-- "I'm not okay, Foggy, I'm never okay, but that's fine--"

"No, it's not," Foggy interrupts, quite rudely, but hey, if Matt's dying somewhere, he needs to know where so he can get to him and save him from dying. "But you'll tell me later, alright? Were are you, buddy?"

Foggy pulls on a pair of sweatpants and a Columbia hoodie while Matt explains where he is. It's not far from their office, shit, what was Matt doing there? Is the mob after them? People loyal to Fisk want revenge? Does someone suspect Matt of being the Daredevil, or vice versa? Shit.

"I'll be there in ten, Matt, hang on," Foggy assures him before pocketing the phone. He grabs his keys and storms out of the apartment, locking the door behind him hastily. Then he stops. If Matt's in that dumb costume — or if he's bleeding or if he's dying or-- — then Foggy cannot take him into a cab. Shit, he needs a car. He doesn't own a car. Shit _shit_ he will need to buy a car one of these days, won't he?

He knocks on his neighbour's door. He's not sure whether she'll answer or just call the cops, but he's hoping for the former. Jess is a weird one, long nights, stays up late, disappears for days on end. Gloomy, brooding, kind of quiet. But she's always happy to share her beer with him and she has a car, which Foggy knows for a fact.

The door opens just as he's about to knock again. "It's two in the morning, what the fuck, Nelson," Jess grumbles. She's dressed in a tee and a pair of jeans and she doesn't look like someone who's just been woken. She wasn't sleeping then.

"I need to borrow your car," Foggy blurts out. Jess raises her brows. "It's an emergency. My friend's...sick. I need to get to them."

"Get a taxi, Nelson," Jess says and tries to close the door. Foggy shoves his foot between the door and the frame, blocking her. "Nelson, fuck off, for the love of God."

"Jess, _please_."

Jess gives him a look befitting a drowned and disgusting rat — it's the same one Karen has given that particular animal when they've finally got rid of the pests in their office, Foggy recognises it without fault — but disappears into her apartment. She comes back with the keys to her old Beetle.

"Only because you're actually a good neighbour and never want my sugar," she says as she hands him the keys. "I expect it back before seven."

"Of course." Foggy takes the keys. "You're the best, Jess."

"And don't you fucking forget it, Nelson."

But Foggy doesn't hear that, busy racing down the stairs and onto the street. He locates Jess' car with little problem; he gets inside, fires up the engine and gets driving. Overall it takes him almost twenty minutes to get to the address Matt gave him — not address exactly, but this has to be the place, there aren't that many fish-smelling alleys behind Moroccan bars near their office — and he's jumping out of the car and into the alley before he actually parks the thing.

"Matt?" he asks as he ventures into the alley. It really stinks. It occurs to Foggy, way too late, that this might be a trap. He should have taken his baseball bat with him. And damn, he and Matt need to work out a coded language or something, to pass secret messages over the phone.

"Foggy?"

Foggy exhales. Matt sounds--well, not _fine_ exactly, but he doesn't sound dying or particularly injured. His voice is clear if a bit dazed, and he's sitting--behind a dumpster, with his back to a disgustingly dirty wall. What is it with Matt and dumpsters?

"Hey, buddy, I'm here." Foggy crouches next to him and reaches a hand to brush the hair off his forehead. Stops with his hand an inch away from Matt's face. Huh. It takes him a moment to realise what's wrong with this picture. It's _Matt_ that's sitting here behind a dumpster, not Daredevil. And yeah, sure, Matt _is_ Daredevil, thank you very much, Foggy is _aware_ , but this is _Matt_ Matt, not Daredevil Matt. This is Foggy's cute best friend, with his floppy hair and brilliant smile and unfocused eyes, complete with a cane in his hands and a suit that Foggy's seen him in at the office the day before.

This is Matt. 

This is not a Daredevil problem. This is a _Matt_ problem.

Suddenly everything is 100% scarier.

"Matt," he breathes. He drops his hand to Matt's lap, squeezes Matt's hand. "What happened?"

"I stayed late at the office," Matt explains. "I found something in the Bogdanov case, might be the breakthrough we were looking for. I didn't want to call you because you were tired and deserved to go home. You haven't been sleeping well lately, someone in your building is renovating and the drilling wakes you up early. So I stayed at the office to work, let Karen go too, and I got hungry so I went out to grab something to eat, and then they jumped me."

"They jumped you?" Foggy asks, ignoring for the time being the rest of the explanation. How did even Matt know about the 5am drilling a floor above his? "Who did?"

"They sounded Ukrainian." Matt shrugs. "I don't know who they were, but they don't want us working the Bogdanov case. They wanted to know what we know. I think they drugged me, but I cannot be sure. I think. But I got away. Hit them with my cane and ran away. Couldn't beat them up, you see, need to maintain my blind and helpless cover."

"So this wasn't about--You-Know-Who?" Matt shakes his head. "Then why did you use the burner phone?"

Matt makes a sad puppy face. "I lost my phone," he says and the upside-down smile gets bigger. "I threw it at one of the men to distract him, hit him right in the eye, you would have been proud, Foggy. Foggy..." Matt drops his cane and grabs Foggy's shoulders. "Take me home? Foggy? I think I'm really drugged, I shouldn't be outside, you think I don't know how dangerous it is, but I do, I know, Foggy. Foggyyy."

Yeah, he sounded drugged. "Are you injured?" Just because Foggy couldn't see any cuts or blood on his suit didn't mean Matt was fine.

"Just where they injected me." Matt turns his head to the side to show him a little puncture wound on his neck. He's really straightforward with everything tonight, it's quite unlike him. "And I think I'll have a big bruise on my collarbone where they grabbed me. Oh, and remember two days ago when I told you I was fine? I lied. I have two cracked ribs and they really hurt. Even Claire doesn't know about them. Home, Foggy?"

What the fuck. "What the fuck did they inject you with?" Foggy asks, because there are things unlike Matt that are within the realm of possibility and then there are things unlike Matt that are so outlandish that they cannot be comprehended. This is certainly an example of the latter.

"Some sort of a truth serum? I think?" Matt shakes his head. "I don't know. I'm guessing. I almost failed chemistry in high school, because the smells were too much and I couldn't concentrate. I passed out during a practical once, the teacher had to call an ambulance and everything, wanted me out of his class after that, you know?"

No, Foggy didn't know. "Matt, you do know that those 'truth serums' don't actually make you tell the truth? They lower your inhibitions, make you disoriented and suggestible, but you can still lie. A real life Veritaserum doesn't exist, buddy. It's a pop culture myth."

"Not this one," Matt insists. "Chemicals gave me super powers, you know that, Foggy, and chemicals made Captain America, and you love Captain America. This chemical makes me want to be really, _really_ honest with you." He pouts. He goddamn pouts. "Why are you being so negative about this? You don't want me to lie to you anymore, 's'm not."

Foggy doesn't grace this with an answer. "Up, Murdock." He puts his hands under Matt's arms and hauls him into a standing position. Matt sways a bit and then steadies himself with a hand on Foggy's chest. The smile that he gives Foggy then is so brilliant it could put the Sun to shame.

"You okay?" Foggy asks. That's a wrong question to ask.

"No, Foggy, thank you." Foggy flinches when Matt's smile gets even wider. "I'm never okay. Everything always hurts, and often it's too loud and just too _much_ , but no one cares about that so I can't either. And I don't actually enjoy getting beaten up, but it's nothing I don't deserve and Stick did worse to me all the time, so it doesn't really matter, but you think I do and I don't, and that hurts too, and after that night I thought I would never see you again and it broke my heart in ways I didn't know it could be broken, but you're here now and I love you so much that it breaks me all over again, but you're _here_ so it's a little bit okay, I guess." Matt's eyelids flutter and then drop closed, he sighs and slumps forward, and Foggy only catches him by some miracle. "Can we go home, now? Please take me home?"

"Uh..." Foggy puts an arm around Matt and squeezes, hard, pressing Matt's body to his, to his chest, and Matt makes a content sound at that, and _fuck_. "Sure. Yeah, sure, I'm taking you home. Where are, uh, your keys...?"

"Nooo," Matt sort of moans into Foggy's hoodie. "Not my apartment. 's not home. 's big and empty and I hate it, just like my life. I don't have a home, I killed my dad and I don't have a home. But you. You, Foggy. Foggy, Foggy. You. You have a home. Your place. Smells like you and 's warm and nice. That's home. Let's go home?"

Foggy swallows thickly. Jesus. Jesus H. fucking Christ. Shit fuck damn. This was the exact opposite of what he signed up for when he did not sign up for being a reckless vigilante's best friend. At this moment he would actually and in all honesty take a few knife wounds over this shit. Knife wounds he could at least deal with, Claire was nice enough to teach him a thing or two. Being drugged with a real life Veritaserum? That's the stuff the Avengers probably dealt with, not _him_. He didn't know how to deal with this. What was he supposed to do? Would this just pass? Did this even work the way Matt assumed it did? Matt--Jesus Christ, Matt was a mess, a mess of issues and problems that were so much _deeper_ than Foggy ever thought. Like, _fucking hell_. Talk about digging up a well, hitting rock bottom, picking up a pickaxe and digging some more. 

Foggy thinks about that time during his sophomore year of high school when he ended up with a therapist. It's illogical, but it makes him ashamed. He can't even remember why he ended up with one. It was some sort of a dumb reason, something that could have and maybe should have just been shrugged off, but he has amazing and supportive parents so it _wasn't_. Then he thinks about That Day, about _"no, no manner!"_ , and thinks that he might be sick. Or cry. Or both, possibly, at the same time.

How the _fuck_ did he — Matt Murdock's self-appointed best friend no less — miss all of this crap? Worst best friend in the history of worst best friends, and that includes Matt being the lying liar who lies. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck. It's a mess. Everything is a mess, and Matt is a mess, Matt is a mess who is currently nuzzling into his hoodie, making happy sounds and leaning into the hug in which Foggy still has him enveloped. 

Jesus fucking Christ.

"We're going home, Matty," Foggy announces out loud with as much authority as he can muster. Matt just sighs and tries to fit his head under Foggy's chin.

***

He's so glad he borrowed Jess' car. Public transport was out of the question and putting Matt in a taxi in this state... That was a recipe for a grade A disaster. Thankfully he had Jess' old and battered Beetle with him, and he somehow even managed to deposit Matt in the passenger's seat and buckle the seatbelt. Matt was more than happy to cooperate. He usually wasn't, so this change of attitude should have been nice, but it wasn't, it was downright heartbreaking.

Foggy seats himself behind the steering wheel, but doesn't start up the engine. He puts his hands on the wheel and his head on his hands. God fucking damnit.

"Foggy?" Matt asks. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Foggy lies. "I'm fine. Just tired, as you've already noted today."

"You're lying," Matt says cheerfully. Foggy lifts his head to look at him. Matt twisted in his seat to sit sideways and face Foggy. The sweet brilliant smile is back on his face, and it's so goddamn _honest_ that it makes Foggy's eyes water. "About being fine. You are tired, though. I'm sorry I called you. Claire is out of town till Monday and I have no one else I could call. There is no one else who might care, and I wanted someone to care, I don't know why, it's silly. But I want you to care, Foggy, I'm sorry."

Foggy sighs and puts the key into ignition, gets the engine going. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

"You're lying again. But that's okay. You have the right to. I've lied to you for years, you have the right to lie to _me_ now and to hate me."

As if. "I don't hate you, Matt."

Matt blinks. "Oh." He blinks again, and his eyes go almost comically wide in surprise. "You're not lying anymore. Foggy, you're not lying, did you know that?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I did."

They fall silent. Foggy hits reverse and gets the car out of the alley and back onto the street. The only reason he managed to get here so fast earlier was because he went way past the speed limit and ran through a couple of red lights. Whatever, he'll deal with that when — or if — Jess gets billed. Now, though, now he's going slow. He doesn't know what effect the speed combined with the drug would have on Matt and he cannot risk him vomiting in the Beetle. Not to mention risking getting caught by the police, with a drugged Matt who would now probably be more than willing to tell everyone that he's Daredevil. Yeah, see, that? Cannot happen.

"Foggy?" Matt asks in a small voice. "Talk to me?"

"I was thinking that talking might not be the best thing now," Foggy answers and it's the truth. 

Matt is being honest right now, and that's not exactly a good thing. Foggy isn't a hypocrite; he hates the fact that Matt can tell when he's lying — even though Matt still doesn't know what the truth is, anyway, see, Foggy understands these powers better and better every day — and thinks that everyone deserves some secrets. Matt would be happy to spill all of his now, and that's not something Foggy wants to allow him to do. That would be taking advantage. Matt is in no state to consent to that kind of raw honesty.

Matt whimpers. "I hate it when you don't talk to me. And we haven't been really talking lately. You're the only person who does talk to me, Foggy, my only friend, and I miss your voice when you're not talking to me." He raises his hand and ends up tapping his cheek, perhaps going for his ear, perhaps going for his temple. "When you're not talking it makes the other voices louder."

What the actual fuck. "What would you like to talk about then?" Foggy asks and it comes out very pinched. Matt doesn't seem to notice.

_Please pick a neutral topic, please pick a neutral topic, please pick a neutral--_

"Anything you want," Matt breathes and smiles sweetly. Cocks his head and rests it against the headrest, curls a little in the seat. "Anything at all."

That's tempting in the most evil of ways.

"Okay," Foggy says. Okay. Something easy. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Matt laughs at that, so one point for Team Foggy. "Trick question. You're gripping the steering wheel. So none."

"Alright, good." They stop at a red light. "So, uh, remember when you tried to explain that 'world on fire' to me and I was angry and didn't let you?" Matt hmms in reply. "So maybe you'd like to try again? I won't be an asshole about it this time, I promise."

"No, no you won't," Matt says and sounds happy. "I can't see anything, but I can imagine what my surroundings look like. I use the other senses to map them out. Sound, mostly. Objects reflect different soundwaves and I can hear that. Like a bat." Matt falls silent and Foggy considers asking whether he should go by 'Red Batman' instead of Daredevil. But Matt's voice interrupts his thoughts before he can put them into words. "So there. I use that to outline things, people. I told you once that my hearing is spectacular."

Foggy tries to place that comment and finally connects it with the memory of one of their college days, just before graduation. Matt told him about his spectacular hearing. Matt told his about his senses being-- 

"--I wish it would let me know what you look like," Matt is saying, but Foggy stopped listening. He's just had a revelation, holy shit. "But it doesn't, I don't know what you look like--"

"You almost told me the truth that day," Foggy interrupts him. He's just realised that. Matt stuttered then, he rememberes that clearly now. "You almost told me."

"... Yes," Matt admits.

Green light. The Beetle moves again. "Why didn't you?"

"I was afraid," Matt says and his voice drops to a very quiet tone that Foggy has to strain to hear. "I never had a friend who stayed before. I was afraid you would leave if you knew. You did leave when you found out."

Foggy grimaces. He cannot quite keep the irritation out of his voice when he says, "I didn't leave because of _that_ , Matt."

"I know. You left because I lied and betrayed you. I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry. And it's alright. People always leave. Maybe it would have been better for you if you stayed away, but you didn't. You came back, Foggy, why did you come back?"

"People don't always leave," Foggy says, because he cannot answer that question. God fucking damnit, Matt.

"My mum left. I had a friend at the orphanage, Mary, and she left too. And Stick--"

Matt falls silent with a frown. A little unhappy pout appears on his face.

"Stick, right? That's your own personal Mr. Miyagi," Foggy jokes. Matt's seen Karate Kid. He can joke about that.

Matt shakes his head. "Mr. Miyagi was a good man. Kind."

"And your Stick isn't?" Matt shakes his head again. Foggy attempts a grin. "Now there, I don't believe that. Anyone who managed to train _you_ must have been at least a genuinely decent person, if only because you are."

Matt brightens up at that compliment and Foggy is ready to add more points to his tally. "He killed lots and lots of people, and kids too, but yes, he did train me. He taught me everything I know. He once had to break my fingers to make me learn a particular move, but I did eventually and he was happy about that, I can show it to you one day if you want, Foggy, I think you'll like it. It's not even difficult, I think that's why Stick was angry about it, it's not difficult at all, maybe I could teach you? I could teach you, if you want. You'll be a great student, I'm sure, maybe if I was as good as you he wouldn't have left."

Foggy completely misses the offer and what follows, his mind coming to a sudden halt. Killed people? "He _broke your fingers_?" he asks instead, horrified, horrified that it happened and horrified that it horrifies him more than _killing people_. What the hell, where was the CPS? Foggy knows that Matt grew up in an orphanage run by the nuns — and he is well aware of all the stereotypes about nuns hitting kids, he's seen the movies and heard the stories, but Matt has always claimed that his nuns were good people — and he doesn't trust the Church to handle _anything_ , but shit. If your charge comes back with broken bones you should get at least a little bit concerned.

"It's nothing, I couldn't do something easy and he had to motivate me somehow. No biggie."

"Yes, Matt, it is a 'biggie'," Foggy says, still unable to move on. Ever since Matt first mentioned Stick, his blind ninja master, Foggy has been thinking of him as some sort of real life Mr. Miyagi or even Master Shifu: wise, benevolent and old as balls. That image is now shattered and Foggy is left with an impression that Matt's childhood was a bit more like a reenactment of the Weapon X program than like Kung-Fu Panda. "It is a fucking big 'biggie'."

Matt makes a sad face. "You're unhappy," he states and _duh_ , Matt, no kidding, "and angry. Why are you angry? What did I do?"

And there goes his anger, puff! and it disappears the moment Matt breaks out that sad puppy impression complete with the threat of a little sob buried in his voice.

"Nothing, Matty," Foggy murmurs as he pulls up in front of his building, "you did absolutely nothing."

***

He helps Matt out of the car and up the stairs right to his apartment. Matt takes a deep breath when they enter, positively _sniffs_ the place. He would never do something so obvious under normal circumstances, but if Foggy were to guess, he'd say this forced honesty extended to behaviour, not only a disturbing word-vomit.

He deposits Matt on his old but surprisingly fluffy couch that Matt happily sinks onto. "Wait here, okay, I just need to return Jess' keys."

Matt nods. Foggy grabs the car keys and rushes out of his apartment. It's after 3am now, but he doubts Jess is asleep. Jess practically never sleeps. Foggy raps on her door and it takes no longer than a minute for her to open.

"Your keys," Foggy says and drops them onto Jess' outstretched palm. "Thanks for letting me use the Beetle."

"Chill, Nelson, you're a decent person, I knew you wouldn't have asked if you didn't desperately need it." Jess pockets the keys and shrugs. "Your friend?"

"I think he'll be alright," Foggy says. Doesn't mention that 'think' is the operative word here.

"Great," Jess murmurs. "Get lost now."

She slams the door right in his face. Goodnight to you too, Miss Jones.

Foggy goes back to the apartment and finds Matt, to his great surprise, exactly where he left him, sitting cross-legged on the couch. He smiles when Foggy enters.

"Your neighbour sounds nice," Matt comments. He must truly think that, which is weird, because no one has ever called Jess 'nice' before. "Her car is nice too."

"You were spying on us?" Foggy asks, meaning for it to come out as a joke. He must have failed, because Matt flinches. "Joking, Matt, just joking."

"Sorry," Matt says. "But yes, I was."

Yes, he was, of course he was. Foggy nods and moves to his kitchenette. From the cupboard over the sink he takes out two glasses. "Do you want some water?"

"No, thank you. I'm not thirsty."

Well then. Foggy puts one of the glasses away and fills his own with tap water, drinks it greedily, then rinses the glass and puts it away too. "You should go to sleep, Matt," he suggests as he walks back to the living room. His experience with drugs might not be extensive, but Matt looks like shit and could use a few hours of sleep. "You can take my bed if you want."

"I don't," Matt answers immediately. "Can't sleep."

Foggy gets the impression that he doesn't mean 'can't sleep here' or 'can't sleep now', but rather 'can't sleep in general and at all'. That would explain the dedication to his nighttime hobby and the bags under his eyes, though Foggy had previously assumed that the chain of causation went the other way round.

"Can we talk?"

"Matt," Foggy says in exasperation. No, Matt, talking is not good for you now, you keep saying things you'd never say if you weren't drugged, your word-vomit is scary and your brain-to-mouth filter virtually non-existent. No, Matt, talking is not a good option.

"Please?"

Fuck. He sinks onto the couch next to Matt. "What would you like to talk about?"

Matt grins. "Marci was here recently. I can still smell her perfume."

... Really?

"Really?" Foggy laughs. "I offer you the chance to talk about anything you want, the X-Files revival for example and how you no doubt are thrilled about it, and you choose to talk about Marci?"

"Are you two back together?"

"Not really," Foggy says and Matt makes an approving sound. Foggy decides to interpret it as Matt-not-detecting-a-lie sound rather than Matt-being-happy sound. "Sometimes she spends the night, but it's not like we're a couple or we're exclusive or anything."

"I can tell." Matt's grin gets even wider. "I can smell a different perfume, more fruity, and a cologne that isn't yours."

"This is a) completely ridiculous that you can smell that still, I had visitors a week ago and I did air the place extensively," Foggy says and grins too, because it's ridiculous, but it is also _fun_ when Matt is open about his weird abilities and uses them to make jabs at Foggy, Foggy could get used to _that_ way of utilising them, "and b) completely gross, ew, man, that was Candace visiting."

"Your sister was in town?" Matt perks up, curious. He's always liked Candace, most likely because of her big dumb teen crush on him. "And you didn't invite me?"

"Haha, very funny," Foggy mutters. Clears his throat. "She popped in briefly on her way back from checking out Columbia's open day. Needs to uphold the proud Nelson tradition of graduating from Columbia that her big brother started, right." He elbows Matt in the side. "Plus she was with her bae, so the days of Candace Nelson making heart-eyes at you are sadly over."

Matt frowns. "She has a boyfriend? Isn't she too young?"

"She'll be eighteen soon, Matt, of course she has a boyfriend. She's not too young to have one, I started dating Debs Harris when I was sixteen. Now, Cande and that Tom of hers are thinking about renting a flat together when they start undergrad, and yeah, _that_ is concerning, because she will be just nineteen and I most certainly _don't_ want to think about my baby sister sharing a flat with her boyfriend. There are some things you don't want to know that your baby sister is doing and _sex_ is definitely one of them. But it's not like I can stop her, you know Candace. Plus she'd only remind me of that time I got stoned with Debs a week into our dating and we slept together in her parents' backyard, so it's not like I can judge her either."

"I remember that story," Matt giggles. "Your mum told it one Christmas. There were bees involved...?"

"Not my fault that Debbie's parents were the proud owners of a beehive full of particularly pissed off bees." Matt sniggers at that and scoops a bit closer to Foggy. He makes a move as if he wanted to put his head on Foggy's shoulder, but stops himself just short of actually doing that. "You can put your head on my shoulder if you want, Matt."

"I can?" Foggy nods. "Can we--can we snuggle?" Matt asks suddenly and sounds afraid. "I'd like to touch you, but I don't know if you want it. I don't want you to say 'no' so I'd rather not ask. No one touches me anymore, not really, you used to but stopped and I miss that, you haven't forgiven me and don't want to touch me, I understand, but I'd like it if you did, if people did. When you hugged me earlier today it felt very nice, I can't remember the last time someone hugged me like that, it felt so nice, I felt safe and--and _loved_ , and I know you don't love me, no one loves me, but I'd like to feel safe again, so can I touch you?"

"Jesus fucking Christ, Matt," Foggy whispers and hauls his arm behind Matt's back and brings Matt close, almost crushes Matt's face in his chest, all before Matt can scold him for blasphemy. Foggy rearranges himself, ends up leaning against his couch's armrest, with Matt sprawled across him in a lazy embrace, his chin resting on the top of Matt's head, Matt's face pressed to his breastbone. "You utterly dumb idiot, _of course_ I love you, whatever gave you the impression that I didn't?" Matt makes a noise in the back of his throat. "You know what, no, don't answer that. I just want you to know and _remember_ that I do love you, nothing will ever make me stop. _Nothing_ , you hear me, Murdock? I love you and I intend to hug you every day now, I promise, is that okay?"

"Yes. Yes, okay," Matt murmurs into the fabric of his hoodie. Foggy could swear he hears him grin again. "You got stung by bees," he intones in a singsong voice.

"That I did," Foggy admits. "It wasn't my finest hour, true, but hey, what can you do." Foggy ruffles Matt's hair and Matt hums, content. "I'm not going to ask _you_ to remind us how well your first crazy experience went."

Foggy knows how it went. The smoking hot Greek girl was, in fact, smoking hot, the end-of-first-year party was a flop, Matt was nicely tipsy, Foggy was completely drunk and had Marci 'accidentally' fall into his lap on purpose and because of that he somehow missed Matt sneaking away with Elektra. Matt's loopy idiot grin when he came back to their room the next day was much easier to spot.

"Which one?" Matt asks. The fabric of Foggy's hoodie muffles the question and for a second Foggy is sure he misheard. "You have to be more precise."

Foggy has a bad, bad feeling about this, but that might be the general lack of sleep thinking that. He hopes so. His gut feeling doesn't have the best track record, so he might be completely wrong. "You mean there was also a guy?" he laughs, and his laugh sounds so strained all of a sudden. "Matt Murdock, you are full of surprises!"

Matt lifts his head from Foggy's chest and smiles down at him, all sweet and at ease. "No, I mean the consensual one or the non-consensual one, I don't know which one you're asking about."

Foggy shoves him off so hastily that Matt lands on the floor. It's reflex, has to be. Matt scrambles to his knees and cocks his head quizzically while Foggy stands up and stares at him in shock. "Your heartbeat's up," Matt notes, "and you've started sweating. I think you're scared. Why are you scared? I didn't mean to scare you, Foggy, I'm sorry."

"You--You're sor--" Foggy has to bite his lip and take a deep breath. Jesus fucking Christ, what the fuck, _what the fuck_. "What did you mean by that? No, wait, no, I know. But, fuck. When did that happen? Columbia? At Landman and Zack? Is that why you wanted to leave? Fuck. _Fuck_ , Matt, why didn't you tell me?" He grips the backrest of the couch so hard his knuckles go white. He fucked up. Fucking hell, he fucked up, he had one job, he had one job and that was to make sure no trust fund asshole would take advantage of Matt and he _failed_. "We have to report--no, fuck, you know what, _no_ , I have to kill that person first, I'll kill them, I'll _kill them_ , I don't care about prison, I'll kill them with my bare hands."

Matt is shaking his head so hard his hair dances around his face. "No, no, no, no no no nononono, no, Foggy, please, _no_ , don't, no, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it's alright, I'm sorry, you can't, Foggy, he'll kill you, he'll _kill you_ , Stick'll kill you. I can't let that happen, I can't, I _can't_ , Foggy, I won't let him touch you, just please, don't, I'm sorry--"

Only one word of that registers in Foggy's mind. "Stick," he says, slowly. Turns the word around in his mind like a puzzle piece that never fit anywhere and only now he realised that he's been holding it all wrong. "Stick. _Stick_?"

"Yes," Matt answers, hesitant. "It's okay, Foggy, it doesn't matter, just please don't try to kill him, I know you want to, I don't know _why_ but you _do_ want to, you're not lying about that. But please don't do that, he'll hurt you and I don't want you to be hurt."

" _Stick_ ," Foggy spits out, and the image of wise and benevolent Mr. Miyagi disappears completely and is replaced by a face of some old disgusting predator creep of the type you could sometimes see on CSI and SVU. Jesus. "How old were you?" he asks, quietly. "How old were you?" he repeats louder and Matt jumps at his tone of voice.

"Ten," he answers quickly and all Foggy sees is red. "Ten, please don't be angry, Foggy, I'm sorry I said anything, don't be angry, it's alright, it's okay, it was training, it didn't even hurt that much, it didn't, it didn't hurt, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sor--"

"Stop. Saying. _Sorry_!" Foggy grabs two fistfuls of his hair and tugs. "Why are you _sorry_ , why aren't you _angry_ , tell me where I can find that bastard so I can stuff a bunch of knives down his throat."

"Foggy," Matt says, "Foggy. It's okay, it doesn't matter--"

"Doesn't matter?" he hisses. He must have started pacing, because he's suddenly looking at Matt's back. Fuck, Matt is still kneeling on the floor by the goddamn fucking couch. "Stick. Goddamn motherfucking bastard _Stick_ , your blind ninja _mentor_ Stick _raped_ you when you were _ten years old_ and you're telling me it doesn't matter?!"

"It wasn't rape," Matt says and his voice is hard, full of conviction and surety he hasn't displayed tonight so far. He almost sounds like Matt-in-court. "It was--It was training and it is _fine_ \--"

"No, not fine, Matt, _not fine_. This is the least fine thing _ever_ and that includes you being a reckless vigilante and lying about it. Fucking hell, not fine, _not fine_!"

Foggy turns on his heel, clenches his fist and drives it forward into his living room wall. He does it once. Twice. And again. And again and again. And again, again, again and again. He might have heard a bone crack. The wall bears a bloody imprint of his fist. _Again_.

There's a hand hovering over his shoulder. "Foggy?" 

Foggy turns around to face Matt. His puppy expression is filled with so much sadness and concern that it makes Foggy fucking _cry_. This drug, this fucking horrifying awful drug, who the fuck ever thought that creating something that would make someone _want_ to tell all their deepest secrets was a good idea, Foggy didn't want to hear any of that, he'd like to bleach his brain, rip it out, but fuck, he can't un-hear any of this. He can't un-know any of this. The person responsible, for the drug, for _drugging Matt_ , Foggy was going to find them and kill them, but not before he hunted down Stick and hanged him on his own intestines.

"Please don't be mad, please don't be mad at me, Foggy, I'm sorry, I'll be quiet now, we don't have to talk, I'll be fine, I always am eventually" Matt is whispering, and his hand is still hovering over Foggy's shoulder, he still isn't sure whether he is allowed to touch or not, _Lord have mercy_. "May I touch you?"

"Fuck, Matt, don't ever ask me that again, of course you can, whatever you need, _fuck_ \--" 

And Foggy is throwing an arm around Matt and he's pressing the dumb idiot close to him, possibly suffocating him in the embrace, fuck. Matt's hands sneak around Foggy's waist and he whispers _"thank you"_ and nuzzles his nose against Foggy's throat, fits his head under Foggy's chin and fucking _sighs_ like he's comfortable and happy, so Foggy squeezes impossibly harder and he might not be able to unclench his fist and he's _crying_ , but he's not letting go, he's not letting this dumb idiot go, he's not...

He's not.

***

Foggy recognises the exact moment Matt wakes. He stretches slightly on the bed and takes a deep breath and frowns, no doubt because of the smell that is familiar but unexpected. "Foggy?" he asks, uncertain.

Foggy nods. "Yeah," he says and Matt's brows furrow even further, possibly because of how exhausted and wrecked Foggy sounds. "I nodded."

"I know." Matt smiles, just a delicate, barely there upturn of his mouth. He sits up on the bed, stretches and yawns, swings his legs onto the floor. "This is a surprise. Why am in your bed? Not that I'm complaining, but I won't take you when Marci finds out, gets jealous and dumps you."

"What's the last thing you remember?" Foggy asks, bypassing all the jokes. He's standing by the bedroom door, not quite daring to go inside. When Matt finally fainted last night — and he _fainted_ , he didn't just fall asleep, he was standing up one second, pressed close to Foggy, and he was falling through Foggy's hands the next, unconscious and completely unresponsive — Foggy managed to get him into his bedroom and into his bed. That was the last time he was inside that room. Foggy has spent the rest of the night and a good portion of the morning sitting on his couch, staring at the wall and trying to ignore his aching hand. He was pretty sure some of his fingers were broken, fuck, _broken fucking fingers_.

"I, uh--" Matt bites down on his lip. "I let Karen go, but stayed at the office. I was going over the case. I--I got hungry and decided to run to that Moroccan place to grab something to eat. I remember going out of the office and then--Nothing." Matt shakes his head. "I don't remember anything. Foggy, what happened?"

"Some of Mrs. Bogdanov's friends must have jumped you, from what I understand. They drugged you. You managed to get away. At which point you called me. I came to pick you up. Brought you home."

"Why here? My apartment's closer to the office."

"Because you asked me to bring you _home_."

Matt stands up and crosses his arms over his chest, raises a brow. "Foggy..." he sighs.

"What?"

"You're not lying," Matt says, "but I can tell you're not telling me the whole truth either."

"What, you can hear half-truths now too?" Foggy huffs. "Smell them?"

"You're being overly polite and reply only in simple, clipped sentences. You only do that when you don't want to tell me something." Matt sighs. "I don't always need super powers to read you, Fog."

"I suppose you don't," Foggy murmurs. He clears his throat and carries on, "they gave you some sort of a truth serum. I think they wanted to know how much we know about Mrs. Bogdanov's particular business. The drug made you really chatty and very, very honest."

Matt laughs. "The so called 'truth serums' don't actually work like that, Foggy, you know that. I'd still be able to lie."

"Yeah, not with this one." Foggy takes a step forward and enters the bedroom. "I would suggest a trip to a hospital, get a CT scan or an MRI or something, I'm pretty sure it's some highly illegal experimental stuff stolen from the military, I wouldn't want it to mess up your brain."

"Okay." Matt frowns again. "Foggy what happened to your--to your hand?"

"Nothing."

"Foggy," Matt repeats, exasperated. "Your bones are cracked, one is even broken, I can hear that, I can _hear_ the fracture. What happened?"

Foggy shrugs. "I punched a wall." He takes one more step, standing now at arm's length from Matt.

"You punched a wall."

"Repeatedly."

"Repeat-- _Foggy_." Matt reaches out, palm open, as if to grab Foggy's arm. He doesn't. Doesn't touch him at all. "Why did you repeatedly punch a wall? What _happened_ yesterday?"

"We talked," Foggy answers laconically.

"And that made you punch the wall until your fingers broke? Foggy, come on."

"You told me some interesting things. For example about dear old _Stick_ ," Foggy spits the name out with as much venom and hatred as possible.

Matt pales hearing that. His hand drops to his side. "Stick? What--What did I tell you about Stick?"

"Quite a lot, actually." Foggy takes yet another step and finds himself almost nose to nose with Matt. He puts a hand on Matt's arm and Matt shivers. "I was happy to imagine that the wall was his face. The best I could do since you told me I'm not allowed to feed him my grandmother's hunting knives collection. Pity, that. I'd like to see his insides on the outside."

"Foggy..." Foggy places his other hand on Matt's other arm and draws Matt closer. "Foggy, what are you doing?"

"Nothing. It's just a hug. Shh," Foggy whispers and tugs Matt into an embrace, a fierce hug that almost makes Matt spit out his lungs. Matt struggles to get away for a minute before he realises that Foggy is not letting go. He relaxes eventually and Foggy uses that opportunity to squeeze harder.

"It's okay," Foggy whispers into Matt's hair. Matt sighs and sags against him, and Foggy lets Matt curl into him, fit his head under Foggy's chin. He runs a hand up and down Matt's back soothingly and rocks them gently from side to side. "It's okay, I've got you. Shh. I made you a promise yesterday, okay, Matt? It's okay, it's nothing. I just--Shh. I just made you a promise."

He hugs Matt and just holds him, holds him, holds him and doesn't let go.


End file.
